Who I Am Hates Who I've Been
by rettevronnoc
Summary: Years of wear and tear, and Collins has had enough of Mark's façade. [[Part I]]
1. Proverbial Sunrise

**Title: **Who I Am Hates Who I've Been  
**Summary: **Years of wear and tear, and Collins has had enough of Mark's façade.  
**Rating: **PG-13  
**Genre: **Tragedy, some unrequited Mark/Roger  
**Warnings: **Mark's mouth gets nasty when he's upset.  
**Authors Note: **Written while listening to Relient K's "Who I Am Hates Who I've Been" and going through PMS-inspired depression.  
**Disclaimer: **Today 4 U, RENT doesn't belong to me.

* * *

**Proverbial Sunrise**

Collins knows a lot of stuff. He knows metaphysics, extremely advanced mathematics, and he knows four different versions of Mark Cohen.

But, if you told Mark that, he'd probably deny it.

So, Collins watches with a somewhat amused smile as Mark wobbles to the front of the church, looking like a penguin in said wobbling state, black suit, and white button down. Collins didn't even know that Mark _owned _a tux. But, then again, what else did he really expect? This was _Roger's _funeral. Of course Mark was going to try to look nice. As Mark heads to the front, his legs shake and his lips tremble.

But if you pointed that out to him, he'd probably deny it.

Walking up to Roger's closed casket, Mark's shoulders shudder and his hand immediately covers his face. At least the casket wasn't open—unfortunately, much like Angel, Roger had fallen into the pits of AIDS, the disease biting at his skin until the remains looked incredibly unpleasant. Collins thinks back to the day that he had to tell the curator to close the casket, to the day that _he _had to pick out the wood—Mark was too shocked, too dumbfounded, to say anything. It was somewhat ironic, really…one of the biggest days in Roger Davis' life (or afterlife, Collins supposed) and his best friend, lover--_life_--had absolutely nothing to do with it. But now, at the funeral, Mark continues with his silent sobbing.

If you told Mark that he was crying and upset, he'd probably deny it.

Collins looks at the picture of Roger fondly; even from his pew he can make out the image perfectly. (Although, seeing it a million times already would probably help with that.) Yes, yes—a picture of Roger on stage, back in the days when he could hush a crowd with one look in their direction. He's sweating in the picture, his bleached blonde hair spiked and the cheap stage lights reflecting off his spiked choker. Most importantly, though, Roger is staring straight at Mark and the camera, smiling.

His amused smile grows bigger as he remembers what happened just ten minutes after that film reel was taken. He had, in fact, streaked in the middle of Roger's crowd, gaining some followers as he went along.

Mark opens his mouth and closes it repeatedly as he tries to find the right words. His Adam's-apple bobs as he chokes back tears, and Collins feels the need to hold his hand as he would a first grader. He also feels the need to tell Mark that he doesn't _have _to say anything. Everything's been said. Roger's heard it all.

Roger knows they love him. Roger knows they know that he loves them. Roger knows he found his one song, that Mark finished his film, and that Mimi finally gave up smack. He knows Joanne has finally got a grip on Maureen and she's never letting go…although, Collins reminds himself, Maureen probably wasn't Roger's top priority in the last years of his life. Still nice for him to know that, though. Nice to keep up with current events; stay up to date and all. Keep posted, if one would.

If you told Mark that he is hurt and alone and dying, he'd probably deny it.

Something about Mark's apathy, about the way he's handling the situation, angers Collins. Even after all they went through with Angel and almost went through with Mimi, Mark stayed closed up and behind that damn camera. For Christmas, Collins wants that camera in a million pieces.

Almost a whole year that Mark stayed locked up. Now, as the reds, oranges, and yellows of November leaves dance outside, Collins remembers a very important fact: Roger always hated the fall. Mark always loved it.

That might change now.

He figures his anger is just part of his love for Angel, though, because Mark is wearing that same sad smile he had at her funeral, and he's wearing that same caring glaze in his eye that marks him as shoulder for anyone to cry on. Those same expressions that say, "Please, mourn—I'll help you through. _I'm_ alright."

It makes Collins mad that he never asks for a break.

Mark's hand is shaking, Collins notes, and it's shaking_ badly_. Roger's Fender is being gripped so tightly that the filmmaker's knuckles are white.

It's somewhat ironic, really. What used to be a camera is now a guitar.

What used to be an innocent, shy smile is now a glare that says, "Even _think _about coming near this guitar and _I_—_will_—_kill_—_you_."

He chooses his words carefully and fiddles with his hands, just like he did when he spoke at Angel's funeral, "I'm…sorry that it took so long for me to change. I'm ready to…to try and never become that way again…" Mark's head drops and he mumbles various obscenities. Everyone hears them, but no one acknowledges them. The filmmaker looks back up, lower lip trembling, "…Who I am _hates_ who I've been."

Those are the only words that come out of the filmmaker's mouth before he steps down, eyes glued to the floor. Confusion settles over the room until Collins stands and heads to the front, hugging Mark tightly on his way up. Mark's hand remains outstretched—he's hell-bent on making sure that nothing happens to Roger's Fender.

As Collins stands at the front of the church, Mark settles back into his seat and watches in somewhat resentment as the philosopher flashes the crowd a huge smile that he's not even _trying_ to cover up. A few return his smile, although everyone knows why it's there. He's smiling because Roger is at peace. He's smiling because Roger and Angel are tearing up wherever the hell they are right now with a blaring rock'n roll guitar/drum duet. He's smiling because Roger lived by no day but today, because Roger did every single task he'd ever wanted to do, because Roger loved and was loved and lived.

Even Mimi is smiling.

"Damn, Rog….you still owe me twenty bucks," Collins lets out a wheezy laugh as he usually does, and a few others laugh in spite of themselves, "Because of all those lost poker games and those times I paid your split of the rent. But don't worry about it, big guy. You paid me back with a thousand of the greatest moments man has ever witnessed. They should put you on coffee mugs. Big, white coffee mugs with your picture and something like, 'Start your day the right way, with…Roger!'"

A bigger group of people laugh. Some might see his statements as inappropriate or void of emotion, but Roger and Collins find them filled to the _rim_ with emotion. Roger and Collins are cracking up because they know that Collins right and they _know_ those mugs would sell big. "I love you, man. I love you."

Mark's in the worst of all positions. On his left, Maureen is sobbing on his shoulder. On his right, Mimi is resting her head on him, tears running down her face despite her big smile. Then, there's Mark, staring up at Collins, blank face and dry eyes.

If you told Mark that he was a better friend to Roger than any of them, that he was stronger than any of them for witnessing all the pain Roger put him through and for dealing with it, he'd deny it.

Collins returns to his seat as more people walk to the front of the room. Despite the heart wrenching stories, the philosopher's mind stays on one thing.

…" _I'm…sorry that it took so long for me to change. I'm ready to…to try and never become that way again…" Shit. Fuck. Damnit. Why the hell am I fucking here? Damnit, damnit, shit damnit. "…Who I am hates who I've been."_

People are still perplexed by his statement. Collins isn't, though, for Collins knows all, sees all. He _knows _what Mark is talking about. He's _seen _what Mark is talking about.

But if you told Mark that Collins knew, he'd deny anything ever happened.

The Mark that is sitting only pews behind Collins is _not _the Mark he met six years ago. If you told him that, he'd _definitely _deny it—Collins was willing to bet his life on that. It was the truth, though. Now, if Collins told it to the Mark he _did _meet six years ago, he'd _completely _agree.

The Mark Cohen that Collins met six years ago was a small, scared, confused, eighteen-year-old filmmaker who came to New York with nothing but twelve bucks and a piece-of-shit camera. That and a Big Mac.

Collins laughs silently to himself, shoulders bouncing up and down as he shakes his head and rubs his forehead. He told Mark that a hobo on the subway had eaten his Big Mac; in all actuality, it was him.

He was terrified of Collins until he saw the teacher give some hobo a few bucks. He was scared of Benny until Benny hugged him and took him out on the fire escape, waving his hand dramatically over the city and exclaiming, "Welcome to Bohemia!" He was scared of Maureen until she made him a "Welcome to Shitsville" dinner, complete with three week old ramen and a small bowl of stale potato chips.

He fell in love with Roger the minute he saw him. And vice versa.

Together, they could take on the world. And they did. The Mark Cohen Collins met six years ago let himself feel and experience every emotion.

Sighing, Collins looks back at Mark and compares his worn, tired face to the bright, exuberant (yet just as pale) face of the Mark Cohen that, six years ago, was allowing himself to fall in love.

Years do too much damage.


	2. Shy Away From the Specifics

**Title: **Who I Am Hates Who I've Been  
**Summary: **Years of wear and tear, and Collins has had enough of Mark's façade.  
**Rating: **PG-13  
**Genre: **Tragedy, some unrequited Mark/Roger  
**Warnings: **Spitting fire  
**Authors Note: **Written while listening to Relient K's "Who I Am Hates Who I've Been" and going through PMS-inspired depression.  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own it.

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**Shy Away from the Specifics**

Mark leads the group to Roger's burial section in the cemetery. They stand in a moment of silence and Collins can't help but feel somewhat awkward. It's such a huge day—a fucking _huge _day, and not one of them can say one thing about Roger. Finally, after a moment, a few of them share feelings and jokes and good times. Mark remains quiet.

Mimi talks about a time that she was performing a strip tease for Roger when she tripped and fell flat on her face. "Roger told me that I was still beautiful, still sexy, though," She laughs, remembering the time, and the rest of us laugh, imagining it.

Maureen informs us of a time that she and Roger fought for twenty minutes about whether condoms have feelings. "Roger looked me straight in the eye and told me," She laughs before continuing, "He told me, 'Yes, Maureen. They do have feelings. They feel like latex over your dick.'"

"We were trying to put something together for Mimi's birthday, after she came back to us," Joanne hugs Mimi as she continues, "So we decided to hire this group that Roger called 'Muchos' to come in and sing at the Life. Do you guys remember that?" They all nod and Collins grins, knowing what's coming next.

"Those were the guys that sang happy birthday in Spanish, right, pookie? The ones with the funny mustaches and accordions?"

"Yeah. Yeah…well, Roger and I thought this awesome under-ground ensemble was going to pop up and sing…and then those guys showed up. When we got back later that night, I asked Roger to let me see the ad we had gotten the name from. He had mispronounced their name—it was _Muchachos_, not Muchos."

Their laughter erupts, especially Collins as he imagines Roger's face fixed on the ad in confusion. The philosopher can see him clearly in his mind, scratching his head and furrowing his eyebrows.

When everyone's done, they slowly walk away. Except Mark, who stays behind a few extra seconds. If you told Mark that he did this, he'd deny it.

Collins turns back and looks at him while the rest of the group goes. He's mumbling inaudibly, but the philosopher knows exactly what he's saying. If he didn't, he wouldn't be Collins.

"How dare you?" He's asking Roger's casket. "How dare you leave me here? You promised I wasn't alone. Fuck, Rog…the loft is going to be so empty. So _fucking _empty…Did you ever care? Did you ever _really _care about me? You cared about your fucking one song glory and your goddamn heroin, but did you ever truly care about _me_?"

But if I told Mark that Collins knew he was saying this, he'd deny it.

The big man claps him on the shoulder, crying as he rubs Mark's arm. The filmmaker leans in to Collins and pats him on the back, nodding.

"So this is really it, huh?"

"Nah," He sighs sigh, "It's never really it."

Mark coughs in a pathetic attempt to cover up his sob. The lump in his throat, his Adam's apple, bobs as he continues to hold it all together, hold it all up in that pumpkin-head of his. Mark's grip on Roger's Fender tightens, and Collins thinks it's best to pull him away.

"Let's go get a bite, make a night, eh?"

He shakes his head, "I need some time alone with him."

This isn't the Mark Cohen Collins knew four years ago. The Mark Cohen he knew four years ago was bruised from Roger's constant beatings, was mentally torn apart by Roger's stinging words, and looked far too worn out to be 20.

Roger was finishing the worst of his first withdrawal, and April had pulled another one of her famous disappearing acts, which is what prompted Roger to drop his habit in the first place.

Maureen had long been moved out, and she and Mark's on-again/off-again romance had reached a rocky point, the off-again being the choice for a few months.

I had moved out and moved into a place closer to NYU.

Benny married Alison and moved out, although he occasionally stopped by to say hello or drop off some food.

Mark was happy with Roger. Mark was happy to hold Roger when he was shaking so violently that it shook Mark, too. He was happy to rub Roger's back when his head was buried in a toilet, happy to receive Roger's beatings for not letting him have one more hit. Happy to hear about how much of a jackass he was, how he didn't really care and didn't really love Roger.

Mark was happy because he knew that once all of that was over, it would be them and only them. And he was right.

There were nights where Roger would creep into Mark's room just to make sure he was still there, just to make sure Mark hadn't left.

Collins knows this because Mark was awake every time Roger did this, and Mark told him. It was more of bragging, really, because Collins was a lonely old professor and Mark thought it was funny that Collins' stray was getting more action than he was.

There were times where Roger would pretend to shake just so Mark would hold him and tell him everything would be alright, he would be okay and the pain would go away soon. He knows _this_ because he witnessed Roger do it on many occasions where Mark wasn't paying him much attention. And sometimes, only _sometimes_, Collins thought Mark purposely didn't pay Roger much attention just so Roger would shake and Mark could have an excuse. It was a cycle, really.

There were winter days where the cold had settled in the air and the heating had been cut off, but the loft was hot and the air was moist with sweat and the smell of sex. He know this because Benny was traumatized after choosing the wrong night to stumble into the loft and felt the need to tell me all about Collins as he chugged, chugged, chugged his lager.

And there were times when they would be caught holding each other's hand or kissing each other quickly. Or they would get caught staring at each other, caught touching each other on the arm or leg, caught in the alleyway behind the Life holding each other in a death grip like their lives would end if they were an inch apart. Not even kissing. Just holding on.

Collins knows this because he caught them on several occasions.

These occasions happened even when Maureen and April were there. The looks, touches, hugs, kisses—the love…it was all there from the moment they met.

The Mark Cohen that Collins knew four years ago was head-over-heels, completely, totally, madly in love.

Years are all it takes to attach oneself to something so completely and so utterly that it ends up being what destroys them in the end.


	3. Reverberating Footsteps

**Title: **Who I Am Hates Who I've Been  
**Summary: **Years of wear and tear, and Collins has had enough of Mark's façade.  
**Rating: **PG-13  
**Genre: **Tragedy, unresolved Mark/Roger  
**Warnings: **Anger can make us all curse like a sailor.  
**Authors Note: **Written while listening to Relient K's "Who I Am Hates Who I've Been" and going through PMS-inspired depression.  
**Disclaimer: **I rent RENT.

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**Reverberating Footsteps**

"I'm worried about him, pookie." Maureen paces in front of the window at the loft.

Mimi paints her nails a metallic blue while sitting on the metal table. Joanne stands with Maureen, trying to calm her down .Collins stands in the doorway and smile. Angel and Roger look down on them.

"What is he going to do with the loft? Sell it?"

He laughs at Joanne, "Mark wouldn't sell this place for anything."

"Do you think he'll let me take some of his stuff?"

Collins been preparing himself for this question, and praying to whoever the hell is in charge of life that it wouldn't come. With a sad smile, he asks, "The truth, Meems?"

She shakes her head, "Yeah."

And then a sigh, "No. He won't let anyone _touch_ his things."

Her voice is small, like she's committed a crime, "…Do you think I can take some before he notices?"

To Mark, that is a crime, "He'll notice."

Mimi sighs and twists the cap of the fingernail polish back on, "Yeah, I know…I was just hoping that maybe…maybe…no. I have enough of him. He always gave me more than enough."

It's a mourning day, and Collins figures it would be rude to correct her. He doesn't want to be rude and break the news to her that, "Actually, Mimi, Roger gave you _just _enough. He gave _Mark _more than enough."

Instead, the philosopher smiles weakly and pushes himself off of the frame, "I'll run down to the Food Emporium. You guys want anything?" They shake their heads. "Be back soon."

"Still haven't left?"

He laughs, almost cruelly, "I was waiting for you, don't you know?"

"Planning on coming back anytime soon?"

He can't make out Mark's face, but he knows the tears are there. It's as if he can feel them.

"Why him? He owes me so much, Collins."

"I know, man. I know."

"Does that make me a bad person? Is it _bad _that I'm pissed at him?"

"Of course not, Mark. You have a right to be angry with him. Withdrawal, April, Mimi…you were there for it all."

The real reason Mark isn't a bad person is because the only reason he's pretending to be angry is because he can deal with anger.

The way Mark figures it is he can deal with anger because it keeps Roger alive—if he's angry at Roger, then Roger can't just slip away. Anger is the one emotion the heart cannot overcome unless it's resolved. And how can Mark resolve his anger with Roger if Roger isn't here?

The way Mark figures it, the heart can overcome missing and mourning. If Mark missed Roger and mourned Roger, his heart would soon rebuild itself and Roger would be a memory.

Of course, none of this is true. Roger will _never _be just a memory to Mark, never _just _a thing of his past. But that's how it plays out in Mark's head. That's how Mark figures it.

"Can I tell you what _does _make me a bad person, Collins?"

"Of course."

"If I could do it all again…I would. In a heartbeat."

"Mark, that doesn't make you a bad—"

"Yes it does. It makes me selfish," His voice shakes with anger, not towards Roger but towards himself, as he spits the words out. But, just as fast as he had been angry, he's whispering as though he doesn't want me to hear him, "I would put Roger through all of that hell, all of that pain, just so I could have those moments with him."

If he stays here anymore, he'll tear himself apart.

This isn't the Mark Cohen he knew two years ago. The Mark Cohen he knew two years ago was angry with April for pulling Roger back into heroin, but keeping his emotions to himself. The Mark Cohen Collins knew two years ago was there every minute of every day for Roger physically, but distanced himself emotionally.

The Mark he knew two years ago was willing to drag Roger out of a club while he was drunk, or high, or both. He watched Roger slowly fall back into his drug addiction, not because he wanted to, but because he had no choice.

And because of that, the Mark Cohen that Collins knew two years ago was going through withdrawal. Withdrawal from his new found comfort in Roger, withdrawal from the nights he had a warm body beside him while he slept.

The Mark Cohen he knew two years ago was slowly pulling himself out of life, distancing himself from all of us as he lived through us and through his movies.

He pretended to be okay, to be fine and calm and collected, even though he wasn't.

Years are nothing but hell.


	4. The Very Thing That

**Title: **Who I Am Hates Who I've Been  
**Summary: **Years of wear and tear, and Collins has had enough of Mark's façade.  
**Rating: **PG-13  
**Genre: **Mentioned romance spun in with a buttload of tragedy.  
**Warnings: **Bad mouths.  
**Authors Note: **Written while listening to Relient K's "Who I Am Hates Who I've Been" and going through PMS-inspired depression.  
**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

Emotions4Rent, I give you my scout's honour that I won't attack the computer. Hehe. Thank you for your fantastic compliments--they make me feel all warm and mushy inside.  
Jackynasty, thank you so much for being my first reviewer. You know what they say about first reviewers--you get a cookie! 'Cept, due to my PMS, I'm going to eat your cookie. I'll buy you another one later. Anywho, I wanted to thank you also for your amazing compliments.

You guys make me blush...

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**The Very Moment That**

"Come on, buddy. Let's get out of here, huh?"

Collins forces Mark to come with him, but his eyes don't tear away from Roger's grave until they're way past the cemetery.

They pass the Life and he stops.

Mark still refuses to cry, although what he says makes Collins' tears spill over, "Mark Cohen will preview his new documentary about his inability to hold an erection on the high holy days…"

Then, together, they say, "Viva la vie boheme."

Collins stares down at Mark…at white-albino, pumpkin-head, scrawny, Scarsdale- Jew Mark. One glance in his eyes and Collins knows it's all ending.

One can only hold themselves up for so long.

They all knew Mark would break. The way Collins figured it, though, was that he wouldn't be alive to see it.

"Feel the urge to dance on any tables, Marky?"

"That was his name for me."

He smiles fondly at the window. Yes, the smile is weak and barely there, but it's a _smile _and it is on Mark's face for the _first _time in a month.

"It's _okay _to miss him, Mark."

The Mark Cohen he knew a year ago was with Roger through his second and final withdrawal. He was there again to comfort and support and save Roger before he could destroy himself. The Mark Cohen Collins knew a year ago found April's lifeless body, held Roger's hand while he opened his HIV test, and sobbed when he realized all of his friends were dying.

He was doing anything—_anything­_—to get money to pay for Roger's AZT. He was talking Benny into forgetting their rent, at least for a while until Roger was stable again.

That Mark depended completely on all of his friends to keep him alive, to keep him feeling emotions as he taped them and followed them around with that damn piece-of-shit camera. That Mark was learning to accept the fact that Mimi was there for Roger now, and was doing him some good.

The Mark Cohen that Collins knew a year ago had completely detached himself from life, disengaged from all feeling completely.

Years bring people together, but there's always someone who years pull apart.


	5. I Wish that I Could Take Back

**Title: **Who I Am Hates Who I've Been  
**Summary: **Years of wear and tear, and Collins has had enough of Mark's façade.  
**Rating: **PG-13  
**Genre: **Tragedy...mentioned romance, I suppose...  
**Warnings: **Mark's pissed off mouth.  
**Authors Note: **Written while listening to Relient K's "Who I Am Hates Who I've Been" and going through PMS-inspired depression.  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own emotion, nor do I own RENT.

* * *

**I Wish That I Could Take Back**

"Are you sure?"

He sounds like a little boy. A small, pathetic little boy. Mark is experiencing emotion for the first time.

Collins feels like crying—this is like watching a baby take its first breath.

"I'm sure, Mark."

Mark nods slowly, turning to the philosopher. Collins expects him to break down slowly, for things to go smoothly and for him to get his emotions out at a good, normal pace.

Quite the contrary. Mark completely breaks down.

The Mark Cohen standing in front of Collins held Roger as his life started slipping away, and rubbed his back when his head was buried in a toilet only years after doing in while Roger was going through withdrawal. While Mimi said it was too painful to watch Roger go and remained in her apartment, Mark was brushing Roger's hair out of his face, telling him that he'd be okay and the pain would be over soon.

The Mark Cohen sobbing into Collins' shoulder broke down the day Roger died, screaming and shouting and thrashing around so much that the doctors actually had to use a tranquilizer on him. The Mark Cohen collapsing at Collins' feet because his knees can't support him—he is shaking harder than Roger _ever _shook during withdrawal, crying harder than Roger _ever _cried during withdrawal, and mumbling to him, to Roger, "Please forgive me, Rog…I'm so sorry…I'm so sorry…"

The Mark Cohen in front of Collins is letting himself feel. He is feeling love and loss and pain. Happiness, completeness, loneliness, emptiness, lust, yearning, needing, wanting, love, pain, hurt…

He's allowing himself to feel things he hasn't felt since Roger strummed his way into his heart. Who he is now—an emotional, living person—hates who he was then—an apathetic outsider.

Who he is now—a friend mourning the loss of his counterpart—hates who he was then—a guy who let himself slowly die away.

Who he is now—Mark Cohen, in love with Roger Davis and suffering the death of the only person he'll ever love—hates who he was then—a watcher who never said how _he _felt, never told Roger how much _he _loved him.

Collins helps his friend collect himself enough so that he can walk back to the loft. He watches with his own tears spilling out of his eyes as he apologizes to Angel and points out that no day but today is _long_ gone.

He apologizes to Angel as he realizes and points out that this is the kind of regret Mark will never be able to forget.


End file.
